


Bookshelves

by squireofgeekdom



Series: The Magical Girls Squad [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, F/F, Happy Ending, It's mostly, Mutual Pining, Pining, Though that aspect is hardly in this one, everyone continues to Not Be Cis, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16679548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: For a tumblr fluff prompt: I love the magical girl AU, can you write AU Minimegs studying together while trying not to acknowledge their feelings for each other (level of success at your discretion)?(Level of Success: There Was An Attempt. Not a successful attempt, mind, but there sure was one.)"Months ago, Minimus had confessed - after Megatron had tentatively offered that they could study over coffee - that she preferred to study in the library. She’d looked down and said something about how she knew it wasn’t most people’s favorite place to study, but really, wasn’t it sensible to do your work where you had all the resources you need, and no distractions - something like that, Megatron hadn’t quite heard her over her heart skipping a beat."





	Bookshelves

She likes bookshelves.

 

She’d been sitting between two bookshelves in the back corner of the public library, on carpet that you could still tell had once been purple, when she’d realized she wasn’t alone.

 

Terminus’s apartment always had bookshelves - none of them as tall as the ones in the library, of course, Terminus needed to be able to reach them from her chair. Megatron would sometimes have to repair them when the duct tape on one of the joints failed, each one rescued from the bins at the local high school, or the cheapest garage sale, no two exactly the same. But they always held up the collection of library rejects and water-damaged paperbacks and gifts from passed friends, old newspaper prints, including the framed copy of the first newspaper article about the Stonewall riots, the one Terminus had read when she was 16, eventually joined printings of Megatron’s first publications, framed.

 

She’d been at her worst when she hadn’t had a single book in her go bag. 

 

But now, the first thing they’d moved into Megatron’s new apartment had been the boxes full of her favorite books. The second thing they’d moved in had been the least-damaged of the bookshelves, the single bookshelf provided by the university being  _ woefully  _ inadequate.

 

The library is her favorite place to study, naturally. 

 

Months ago, Minimus had confessed - after Megatron had tentatively offered that they could study over coffee - that she preferred to study in the library. She’d looked down and said something about how she knew it wasn’t most people’s favorite place to study, but really, wasn’t it sensible to do your work where you had all the resources you need, and no distractions - something like that, Megatron hadn’t quite heard her over her heart skipping a beat. 

 

She doesn’t remember exactly what words had tumbled out of her mouth first - something like yes, yes, absolutely - but she remembers what she said when she recovered herself, because it’s etched in with the look on Minimus’s face. 

 

“Of course, it’s fortunate it’s not more ‘ _ popular’ _ ,” she’d said, “if the library were crowded, there would be too many distractions.”

 

Minimus face had lit up in a way that sparked a giddy feeling in Megatron’s stomach, the kind that made her want to make Minimus light up like that again and again, every day, every  _ hour,  _ every - 

 

“Yes,” Minimus had said, “yes,  _ exactly _ .”

 

It turned out one person was more than enough distraction. 

 

This was the thirteenth time they’d studied in the library together, a small private count kept safe in Megatron’s head. 

 

They’ve found their space, a table tucked between two bookshelves, something that still spells  _ safety _ , far enough in a back corner such that - even though the library had been built with some abysmal modern aesthetic that meant it was half glass - it felt like they had some privacy. Megatron thinks she could walk to it blindfolded. 

 

Minimus’s brow is perfectly furrowed as she reads, her teeth have been worrying at her lower lip in concentration for the past minute. 

 

Megatron doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it. 

 

Megatron tries to reread the essay prompt for the third time, focus on the words staring back at her in black ink, Times New Roman, twelve point font, and not on the fact that if she reached out a few inches she could hold Minimus’s face and run her thumb across Minimus’s brow, smooth the lines of concentration away, lean in and press her lips to Minimus’s, let her nibble on Megatron’s lip instead - 

 

She lets her head fall forward against the textbook with a dull thunk, as though that will jar her brain back to sense. 

 

“Megatron?”  

 

They’re already sitting so close together that Megatron would swear she could feel Minimus’s warmth, but Minimus’s featherlight touch on her shoulder is  _ so much worse _ , she could as easily have taken a lit match to Megatron’s shirt _.  _

 

She takes a deep breath and looks up, and Minimus immediately pulls her hand away, and just like that, her shoulder is ice. 

 

“I apologize for disturbing you,” she says, “I am finding this prompt - frustrating.”

 

“Which prompt?” Minimus asks, and Megatron’s brain, dragged into panicked comprehension,  _ actually  _ reads the prompt for the first time.

 

“There,” Megatron points at a line, because fortunately she _actually_ has a question, “I can’t remember  _ ever  _ having seen that case cited before, is it a typo for -?”

 

“Oh, no,” Minimus leans in, puts her hand over Megatron’s as she looks more closely at the prompt, “not a typo, that’s -”

 

Megatron - 

 

\-  _ turns her hand up to properly hold Minimus’s, running her thumb over Minimus’s knuckles before taking her hand up to kiss it gently.  _

 

_ And Minimus lets out a small gasp, leaning in closer, practically in Megatron’s lap now.  _

 

_ Megatron lets their joined hands fall back to the table as she lifts her other hand to trace along the line of Minimus’s jaw, taking Minimus’s chin and -  _

 

\- listens attentively to Minimus’s precise and detailed description of the obscure case in question, nodding as Minimus notes several insights regarding its relevance both to subsequent case law and their coursework. 

 

“Thank you,” she says, as Minimus concludes.

 

There might be a flush on Minimus’s cheeks, then again, it might be a trick of the light, “It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s certainly not, our lectures could not hope to be half that lucid. I wish I had your mind for case law.”

 

“I’ve always had a rather good memory.”

 

“It’s not just memory,” Megatron insists, leaning in to make her point more forcefully, “you bring clarity and insight, nevermind understanding the surrounding material enough to make connections,”

 

Minimus smiles, and Megatron carefully presses the image in the pages of her mind and tucks it in the safest corner of her bookshelf. “Well, we know I won’t be setting the curve on this essay,” she looks at Megatron, “no one can write like you, certainly not me.”

 

“That’s - well -” but she doesn’t have a chance to stumble through a response to that before Minimus is reciting one of the lines from Megatron’s last class essay, the one that she had proofread. 

 

She pronounces the words with the same correctness and precision that she brings to everything, but there’s also care that almost overwhelms her, admiration bordering on awe. 

 

Megatron desperately wants to kiss her, to taste the way her own words sound on Minimus’s lips, craves it; it’s a loss and a mercy when Minimus stops speaking.

 

“I mean -” Minimus waves a hand, “it’s almost  _ poetry, _ I have no idea how you do it.”

 

Megatron wants Minimus to read her poetry, she realizes suddenly, wants to watch Minimus’s face when she does, wants to find whatever grace Minimus’s voice could bring to the words of her younger self. A terrifying thrill comes over her when she considers the slim, slim chance that Minimus might have read one of her handful of published pieces, submitted under her pseudonym years ago, that Minimus might have pronounced her words, tasted them, alone - 

 

“I could never write like that.” Minimus says, more softly. 

 

“I like your writing,” says quickly, too quickly, the words racing out of her mouth before she can shape them into something better.

 

Minimus laughs a little at that. “Most people find it… dense.”

 

“It is dense,” Megatron admits, “I appreciate that,” she says, and curses herself - damned with faint praise, because what is  _ appreciate _ ? Barely a synonym for acknowledge, you  _ appreciated  _ the lateness of the hour when you concluded an event that was running over time, she meant more than that. “You bring out the details, it shows that you  _ care.  _ I always learn something from reading your papers.”

 

She’s leaned closer to Minimus without really noticing. Minimus’s eyes are intent, not quite smiling, her mouth slightly open - she’s shifted forward in her chair, putting a hand on Megatron’s knee to balance herself, and - 

 

Minimus pulls her hand back as though she’s been burned, snapping her mouth closed and looking down. “Thank you, though the compliment’s quite undeserved, I’m sure.”

 

“It’s not.”

 

Minimus pushes her chair back, standing up to look over the bookcase, out through the long glass wall. “It’s late, it’s getting dark. I should go back - I - I hope that was of some help. For your essay.”

 

“Certainly more than ‘some’.” Megatron says, “I can walk you back, if you like, we’re going to the same place, in any case. And,” she adds, “if you were planning on continuing to work this evening -?”

 

Minimus wavers. “Yes. Yes, I suppose that would be - nice.”

 

Megatron sweeps her books into her bag as she stands up, offering her arm to Minimus. Minimus hesitates for only a moment before placing one small brown hand on Megatron’s arm. Megatron wishes the gesture carried something more than comfortable familiarity, but the gift of Minimus’s easy trust still makes her heart skip, makes her feel warm even in the face of the chill breeze as they leave the library. 

 

Minimus leans closer to her in the face of the cold; Minimus makes her feel glad to be tall, for how perfectly Minimus fits pressed up against her side. 

 

“May I?” Megatron offers.

 

“Oh - thank you. I should have worn a proper coat, but the weather report didn’t indicate there would be windchill.”

 

Megatron silently hopes that the weather forecast never gets more accurate as she reaches over to tuck the edge of her coat around Minimus - 

 

\-  _ turns around to face her, standing between her and the wind. She wraps both sides of her coat around Minimus, pulls her close so she can feel her warmth. Minimus wraps her arms around her under her coat, presses up flush against her. _

 

_ She leans down, curling around Minimus, cradles Minimus’s face in her hands as she kisses her in the perfect halo of the streetlight -  _

 

\- lets Minimus tuck the side of her coat around her like a cloak - she would offer her coat properly, but it would be overlarge to the point of encumbrance. No, this is the sort of practical camaraderie that they’ve established fighting by each other’s side, and Minimus is, as always, sensible. 

 

That doesn’t keep all sense from going out of her mind when Minimus puts her hand lightly on the small of her back in order to walk more closely beside her.

 

When they finally reach the door to Minimus’s apartment, Minimus looks up at her. 

 

“Would you like to come in?” she asks, and Megatron’s brain briefly shorts out before she remembers that she’d suggested that they continue studying. That was all.

 

“Of course, thank you,” she says, following Minimus inside, “hopefully this essay shouldn’t take too much longer.” She adds, as she sits down on the couch and sets her work out on the small coffee table. There’s a bookshelf across from her, next to the desk, where Minimus keeps a miniature law library, Megatron smiles at it with familiar fondness. 

 

Minimus sets her bag down next to Megatron, and then walks back towards the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

 

“Just the usual, thank you.”

 

Megatron tries to focus on the text in front of her and the notes she’s taken on Minimus’s remarks on the relevant case law while Minimus hums as she sets up a kettle, but even just the soft hint of Minimus’s voice keeps tugging her away.

 

She remembers the first time she’d realized she wanted to kiss Minimus. 

 

They’d been at a concert - one that Megatron had thought Minimus had bought them tickets for, and Minimus had thought  _ Megatron  _ had bought them tickets for, and ultimately it had turned out that it had been Rodimus  - and Drift, of course - who could  _ never be allowed to know any of this,  _ because she would certainly see it as a success in whatever cockamamie idea she’s gotten into her head and be insufferable about it for _ ever _ .

 

Minimus had held on to Megatron’s arm, to keep them from getting seperated in the crush of the crowd, as they’d watched the stage. They’d kept to the side of the crowd, away from the densest parts, but close enough to see, pressed up against a pillar, swaying to the music. 

 

They’d talked about the concert as they had waited in line, and Minimus had noted that she never understood people who sang during concerts - it wasn’t sensible, you had paid to hear someone else’s music, why distract from that?

 

But for a moment, on the chorus of Minimus’s favorite song, Minimus had watched the stage, enraptured, and sang along, seemingly without realizing she was doing so. Megatron doesn’t know how she could hear Minimus’s voice, over the speakers amplifying the music from the stage, over the crowd, but she could, and she couldn’t imagine wanting to listen to anything other than her voice, full of love for the words, filled with the energy of the music. 

 

Minimus had watched the stage, entranced, her eyes aglow, a transcendent smile on her face. On the stage had been Megatron’s absolute favorite musician, a talent that she had admired for years, and a performance with backup dancers and a band all of breathtaking skill, so perfectly choreographed and practiced and designed for every screen and every light that it could make you weep, and Megatron had only wanted to look at Minimus. 

 

The music had ended, the encore bow had been taken, and Minimus had turned to look at Megatron, tears of joy in her eyes, tears that Megatron could suddenly feel in her own eyes, and Megatron wanted to do nothing more than lean down and kiss those tears away, and press a kiss to Minimus’s mouth.

 

“Megatron?” Minimus says, a mug in hand.

 

Megatron’s face is burning up. “I - may I use your bathroom?”

 

“Of course,” Minimus says.

 

Megatron follows the wave of Minimus’s arm through the door to the bedroom, the bathroom on the other side. 

 

On second thought, this may not have been the best idea. 

 

There’s a second bookshelf that Minimus keeps next to her bed, Megatron’s eyes go to it automatically, searching for an anchor point. 

 

There’s a black notebook sitting on the edge of the bookshelf, a black notebook that’s set on top of -

 

She recognizes that cover, recognizes it because Terminus had kept a copy of that particular literary magazine on her bookshelf, a copy with one of Megatron’s poems printed in it. 

 

Her heart’s pounding like she’d just been in a fight, it’s ringing in her ears.

 

_ Minimus had read her poetry. _

 

Minimus kept a nearly decade-old magazine - Minimus had read her poetry  _ more than once.  _

 

Minimus had kept the magazine next to her bed, maybe the last thing she read at night. Had she read the lines aloud to herself, in here, in private, tasted the words again and again until she memorized their rhythm, but still pronounced them with the same reverence, let them -

 

Megatron makes a hasty turn for the bathroom and closes the door to stop herself from invading Minimus’s privacy by picking up the journal and finding her piece, to remind herself what she’d set down years ago. 

 

She braces herself on the sink. 

 

She’s going to have to give this evening up as a sunk cost. She can’t even begin to pretend that she’s studying law when she can’t stop thinking about Minimus reading her poetry, about Minimus’s singing voice, about Minimus’s couch and all the ways she could kiss Minimus on it. 

 

She’s going to go home, take an ice cold shower, and stop pining like a ridiculous teenager after someone who wouldn’t  _ possibly _ be interested in her,  _ in that order. _

 

She splashes water on her face until it goes back to something resembling a normal temperature and walks out of the bathroom fully prepared to tell Minimus she has a headache, and will have to take a break from studying for the night.

 

She gets back into the main room to find Minimus still standing in the same place, still holding the mug. 

 

“Oh!” Minimus says, looking up, clearly having been distracted by something. “Here’s your tea. Is everything alright?”

 

And Minimus is standing there so nervously, and when she looks at Megatron she suddenly can’t bear to leave without at least finishing the cup of tea that Minimus has gone to the trouble of making.

 

“Everything is fine, thank you,” she says, taking the mug of tea from Minimus’s hands, resisting the urge to wrap her hands around Minimus’s hands instead.

 

She sits back on the couch and leans back, blowing on the tea to cool it just slightly enough for her to take a sip. When she looks up, Minimus is still rooted to the same place.

 

“Minimus?”

 

There’s a knock at the door. 

 

Minimus spins towards the door so fast she almost  _ blurs,  _ turning away from Megatron in the blink of an eye. She opens the door without even checking who it is. Megatron stands up to see, but quickly realizes she didn’t have to, as the voice gives it away. 

 

“Hey Mims, I was just bringing back your -  _ oh. _ ” Rodimus says, looking over at Megatron, “didn’t realize I was  _ interrupting, _ ”

 

Megatron can’t see Minimus’s face, but she can hear her splutter, “We’re -” she says, and waves a hand at the books Megatron has on the table. 

 

“Uh- _huh,_ ” Rodimus says, handing a book to Minimus. “Well, I won’t interrupt your ‘ _studying_ ’,” she says, taking a step back from the doorway. “Have fun with the ‘ _books_ ’.” She adds with a wave. 

 

Minimus chokes out something that was probably a ‘goodnight’.

 

Then she closes the door and doesn’t turn around for a very long time. 

 

Then she lets out a brief burst of pained, humorless laughter. “I - don’t know  _ why  _ she has to -” Minimus starts. 

 

“- turn everything into an innuendo, I know.” 

 

“She’s just - teasing me.” Minimus shakes her head. “ _ Obviously  _ no one would be interested in -”

 

_ ‘you - not knowing  _ your  _ history,’  _ Megatron mentally fills in automatically.

 

But Minimus just waves a slightly shaking hand at  _ herself,  _ before letting out another burst of humorless laughter and immediately turning to the kitchen. 

 

“Why on earth  _ not _ ?” Megatron blurts out, with more indignation than is perhaps sensible, given that  _ she  _ wasn’t the one insulted, though indirectly she supposes it’s an insult to her  _ taste.  _ “You’re  _ brilliant,  _ and - conscientious, and dedicated -” the words are building up into a torrent, “and you care so much about everything you do, you’d have to be a  _ fool  _ not to see that, and  _ I  _ certainly know how brave you are, and you have the most beautiful voice -”

 

Minimus lets out a strangled noise. 

 

“I -” She’s overstepped, she should have left right away, she shouldn’t have come in the door, why did she have to open her  _ mouth - _

 

“Thank you,” Minimus chokes out, “for - the compliment. It’s quite undeserved.”

 

“It’s  _ certainly  _ not.” Megatron says, because she may have overstepped, but she isn’t going to let Minimus insult herself like that, “if Rodimus was teasing anyone, it was me, obviously, with -”

 

Minimus actually  _ snorts.  _ “Nonsense. I think half of our cohort is in love with you to- _ o _ ,” 

 

Minimus freezes. Megatron freezes. 

 

A spoon clatters in the sink. 

 

“I forgot -” Minimus starts, “I forgot my notebook in the library. I - I need to go.” She turns away, faces the door.

 

“No - I -” Megatron starts, stepping towards Minimus, “Minimus, this - this is  _ your apartment.  _ If anyone should leave, I should. If - if that’s what you want.”

 

“I - I shouldn’t have -” Minimus says, still facing the door. 

 

“I wrote the poem,” Megatron says, because if she’s going to walk into walls she might as well run into them.

 

“What?” Minimus says, finally turning around. 

 

“The last one. In the journal on your bookshelf.” Megatron says. “I used to submit poems, under a pen name, and - Terminus kept that one, after I was published in it. I - I recognized the cover. I didn’t mean to -”

 

“ _ You  _ \- you wrote - ?”

 

Minimus is trembling. Megatron takes two excruciating steps back, gives Minimus space, even though it feels like she’s made of iron and Minimus is a magnet, like at any moment she’s going to be lifted off the floor and inexorably pulled towards Minimus.

 

“I meant every word,” Megatron says, “Everything I said about you just now - I meant it.”

 

Minimus is looking up at her, eyes aglow, mouth slightly open, the same awestruck expression she’d worn when she’d watched the concert and Megatron had realized that she wanted to kiss her, and there’s a fire in Megatron’s chest at the realization that there might be even the faintest possibility that she could do just that.

 

“Minimus,” she asks, softly, trying not to let her voice shake, “do you want me to kiss you?”

 

For a moment Minimus is completely still, and Megatron feels ice in her veins. Then -

 

Minimus nods. “ _ Please. _ ”

 

Megatron closes the distance between them in three strides, and Minimus leans into her as Megatron places one hand on the small of her back and runs her other hand over Minimus’s cheek, along her jaw, tracing her thumb over her chin.

 

Minimus tilts her head back, and Megatron bows to kiss her.

 

When Megatron leans back, Minimus has one hand holding Megatron’s arm, and the other tucked under Megatron’s coat, grasping her hip.

 

Megatron can still feel Minimus’s breath on her face, and then Minimus presses upward, her hand on Megatron’s arm guiding her back down, and Megatron happily follows, leaning in to Minimus’s kiss. 

 

Someone had once said that having was not nearly so pleasing a thing as wanting. Megatron considers that few people have ever been so utterly and completely wrong. 

 

Minimus is so close to her that she can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, even as she hears the beating of her own heart pounding in her ears. 

 

Reverence is a foreign and often disconcerting concept for her, but, she considers, she will have to make an exception for the way she traces circles on Minimus’s back, the way she runs her thumb over Minimus’s lower lip. 

 

Minimus tightens her grip on Megatron, staring up at her. “Can I - offer you a cup of coffee?” She breathes, so close that Megatron can almost feel how hesitantly her lips frame the words.

  
“ _ Please.” _


End file.
